Staggering Serendipities
by HarleenQuinn
Summary: When Smithers learns that he has son he had never known, his world and life are turned upside down. Chapter 5 up!
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Simpsons characters.

Please read and review! Both constructive criticism and praise are greatly appreciated! Thank you, and happy reading!

Staggering Serendipities

The day commenced with normalcy expected. As I first became conscious again, sheltered under the yielding covers of my bed, I began my routine with its permanent first step: visualizing my day not as how I wanted it to be, but as how it would be. Sometimes during the day, I caught myself becoming swept up in quixotic dreams and impracticable imaginings, but this part of my day seemed to ground me a bit, if not drain me of hope.

That early morning as I opened my eyes in the dark of my house, I began immediately thinking about the day ahead of me. What I would have to do. When I would have to do it. The usual sacrifices, the possible rewards. My body heaved slightly and steadily with each concentrated breath I took as I pondered every detail of the imminent 24 hours. The fact that I could review a day that had not even happened yet made most people deem me predictable, but I always corrected them with one of my favorite adjectives: stable.

After this exercise was complete, the next part of my morning routine was inaugurated. I would fling on my robe, walk to the kitchen, eat my breakfast while watching the morning news, take a shower, get dressed, and hurry over to Mr. Burns' manor to go through my morning routine one more time with him.

Visualizing this that day, I sighed, wondering if my life truly had lost the definition of living. I supposed it didn't really matter. _As long as you're happy with the homogeny of your life, you are living_, I told myself consolingly. _But are you happy with the homogeny of your life? _I then asked myself.

As I poured myself some Krusty O's and milk, I contemplated my question. I looked at my cereal first. Was I happy with this part of my routine? I wondered. While that charismatic Sideshow Mel caught my eye from time to time, I didn't even like that imbecile Krusty the Clown and yet I ate his cereal day after day? Why was that? I looked to my TV screen, where Kent Brockman was prattling on about some carnival that would be in Springfield in the next couple days or so. Was this really the frivolous information I wanted to be nourishing my mind with in the morning?

Before my mind could even wonder about my contentment concerning the rest of my life, the doorbell suddenly rang, interrupting my destructive musings. I placed my cereal bowl on the counter and ambled tiredly to the door, turning to my left to check the time. 6:34. _Who would be here at 6:34 in the morning? _ I wondered slightly.

I opened the door to see a young boy, perhaps 8-years-old or so, clad in a dull chocolate uniform, his small arms carrying the weight of several boxes of cookies. He looked up at me with massive eyes under just as massive, round glasses. "Good morning, sir," he spoke softly. "I'm sorry to bother you at this early hour, but I was wondering if you might be interested in buying some cookies."

The whole scene put me ill at ease for some reason, and usually, I would decline such an offer, but something impelled me to hear the boy out. "Don't _Girl_ Scouts usually sell cookies?" I asked, I suppose a bit inappropriately, but hell, I was curious.

The boy looked down and tittered timidly. "Yeah, well, I just moved here and the school insisted I get involved with one of their programs, so I joined the Poetry Club and well, I suppose a bit predictably, we are under-funded, and selling cookies was the almost unanimous choice for a fundraiser." He laughed and added, "There are more girls in the club, also a bit a predictably."

I smiled. This boy seemed genuine, although there was still something that set me off about him. "Well, I usually don't do this, but…sure, I'll take a box of cookies. What kinds are you offering?"

"Oh, thank you, sir!" exclaimed the boy. "We have many choices: mint thins, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin…"

"Oatmeal raisin, please," I decided, reaching for my wallet.

"That will be $3.00, please. And might I say, excellent choice, sir. Oatmeal raisin are my favorite too, and these oatmeal raisin cookies are to die for, although I may be biased," he said, chuckling.

"Well, I'm excited to try them," I said, handing the boy my money in exchange for my box. "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_, sir," the boy said readily. "It was great doing business with you, and I hope you enjoy your cookies."

"I will. Goodbye, and good luck," I offered, taking my cookies and myself inside my house. I watched the boy for a moment as he walked merrily down my steps and to the next house. There was something about him…those gargantuan eyes…that warm but professional persona. He reminded me of someone.

And then it hit me. He reminded me of me.

And although this was merely a passing thought, I suddenly felt as if my world, my routine, and my life had been completely turned upside down.


	2. Chapter 2

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Once again, thank you all for reading and reviewing! Every word is treasured. :) Enjoy chapter two!

Bathing Mr. Burns in the morning was always one of the highlights of my day. I always thought that the sexiness and novelty of the process would decline over the years, but they never did. Every time I saw my boss naked, each time I felt my skin against his, it was the same prurient rush all over again. It kept my otherwise rather dull mornings painted with a sheet of vivacity.

Mr. Burns' bathing times also served the purpose of our vital morning palavers spent catching up on the twelve hours we endured apart each night. I usually opted to keep my nighttime activities to myself, but I always felt butterflies in my stomach when Mr. Burns would inquire about them. When he did, I knew that he was interested in my life, and that was the greatest feeling in the world.

I also cherished every word that dashed out of Mr. Burns' mouth about his own last twelve hours. Of course, most of them were spent in sleep, but he always had something new on his mind to share with me. Some new idea, conflict, scheme, or just an innovative thought he was eager to tell me. And I was always just as eager to listen.

On this particular morning, my friend was nattering about his latest plan to make our workers at the power plant more competent. "You see, Smithers, it is simply the time of day that lunch is served that makes those noodles as bungling as they are," he said assertively.

"How do you figure, sir?" I asked curiously as I polished Mr. Burns' back with a special, spherical sponge.

"For some reason unknown to me, our employees seem to be obsessed with the world of food," began Mr. Burns. "So, we must make them wait until the day is nearly finished to serve them their free meal, and only give it to them if their work for the day has been proficiently completed."

I paused, considering the peculiar yet fresh notion. "It sounds like a good idea, sir. Except that, well…going without food for the entire day may cause the workers' minds to shut down before they can produce competent work. The human mind works better when the stomach is fed."

"Pish posh!" exclaimed Mr. Burns. "The plan is perfect, you nebbish, and we're going to instate it today. Now help me out of my bath and bring me my towel."

Just as I had my hands happily placed on Mr. Burns' hips, helping him out of the tub, we both jumped, startled from the sudden ring of the doorbell. "Who could that be?" Mr. Burns asked, as I put a towel around him. We ambled out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, where we stared down at the visitor. The boy with the glasses and the cookies and the uncanny resemblance to me. "Release the hounds," demanded Mr. Burns.

"But sir, he's just a little boy," I argued.

Mr. Burns looked at me inquisitively. "And…? Smithers, you've never had a problem releasing the hounds on children before. Now hop to it!"

I nodded unsurely and trudged to the wall where the button for the hounds was positioned. My finger lingered over it. I looked back at the boy as he waited unwearyingly with the boxes of cookies nearly collapsing over from their comparative weight. I looked back at the hound button. I couldn't press it. "Actually, Mr. Burns, I'm rather famished. I think I'll go buy a box," I stuttered.

"Hmmm…all right. If you want to waste your money, I can't stop you," Mr. Burns replied nonchalantly. "But be swift. I don't want to stand around here so exposed for much longer."

I nodded and summarily bounded the long staircase down to the door. Upon opening it, I saw a smile instantaneously become a bridge between the boys' rosy cheeks. "Why, hello, again!" he exclaimed excitedly. "You live _here _too?"

I smiled. "No, this is my friends' house. He…couldn't come to the door, but he does want to donate to the cause," I lied, not even quite sure myself what I was doing. "Um…instead, he wants to send a rather large check to your school."

The boy looked a bit diffident, but then smiled. "Well, that's awfully generous of him! Well, I go to Springfield Elementary, and the Poetry Club's supervisor is Ms. Hoover, so I'm not sure which he should make the check out to…"

"I'll see what Mr. Burns thinks, and the check will arrive soon," I told him, suddenly feeling panicked at the prospect of making this lie a truth.

"Thank you so much, sir. And thank Mr. Burns greatly for me. You both are stunningly kind people, two of the few I've met in this town so far," he said a bit sadly.

I looked down a bit desolately myself, before we bid each other our final goodbyes.

The next day, against by my better sense of judgment, I went down to Springfield Elementary and stood aimlessly outside the playground, watching the children playing and waiting for the final bell to ring. Luckily, there were no bystanders, because I knew I must have looked like a first-rate pedophile, but I had to know if I was somehow accurate in my instinct regarding that boy.

What I saw didn't tell me much. He was swinging jocundly next to some boy. Some other boy approached him and they partook in a secret handshake. All three began talking. Smiling. He looked genuinely happy and well-liked. The resemblance began to fade.

But then he did something that rekindled my suspicion. A pig-tailed blonde sauntered past with a group of her friends, and the look on his face was unmistakable. It was this certain look of love in his eyes. Restrained but crying to be freed. The way I so often looked at Mr. Burns.

"Is one of these children yours? Or should I call the cops?" asked a voice in a velvety, an all too familiar, Southern drawl.

I turned around promptly, almost knocking into a tree to the right of me. And then I saw her. For the first time in eight years. That beautiful woman with the ebony hair, the emerald eyes, and the fragmented heart. Clad in a clingy, garnet gown and still wearing the platinum heart locket I gave her on our first anniversary, she looked as gorgeous as ever.

I tried to catch my breath as our eyes met in mutual shock. "Maggie?"


	3. Chapter 3

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Once again, thank you all for reading and reviewing! Every word is truly cherished. :) Enjoy chapter three!

"Waylon?" she asked, the ire in her eyes being replaced with shocked sadness.

"Maggie," I gasped again. We stood and stared at each other in completely frozen silence until we, in unison, reached out to one another for an embrace that seemed all too brief. Her hair still carried the scent of early summer mornings spent on the porch drinking lemonade, watching the tangerine sun rise, and talking languorously of the future. The future that I ruined for the both of us.

As we ceased our embrace, we retreated back into the staring silently stage until I could take no more and had to speak. I asked, "What are you doing here?" It was a foolish question, but the only thing that came to my mind.

Her eyes unmoving, Maggie replied, "I…my son goes here."

As my heart pounded, I wanted to just ask her candidly: "Does my son go here too?" but I knew I couldn't. _Don't jump to conclusions, Waylon. Maybe it's all in your head._ I swallowed uncomfortably and asked, "Your son…so, I suppose you got remarried."

Maggie's eyes turned towards the lime-colored grass we stood upon as she crossed her arms as if trying to warm herself from a nonexistent expanse of cold. Her raspberry-hued lips twitched a bit in this one manner that to which I was well-accustomed. It meant she wanted to lie, but was going to be unable to. I braced myself, trying to take deep breaths to slow the commotion inside me.

After moments of quietude, she looked up at me dejectedly. "Waylon, I never remarried." She scoffed, almost to herself. "In eight years, I never remarried. Some catch I am." I immediately wanted to protest and rescue her from her own self-hatred, but I couldn't find the words. "Or I guess…some catch you were. I never found anyone after. Well, yet, I suppose. There's still time for me…and for Eldridge."

I gulped. "Your son?"

"Yes…" she began, looking as if she wanted desperately to continue. Then she stopped herself. "Waylon, I think you should probably leave now."

"What?"

She looked pained again. God, how I hated to see her like that. It took me back to almost every day of the last months of our marriage. "Well, if you don't want to talk, then you should…"

I interrupted with confusion, "Who ever said I didn't want to talk?"

"I just assumed…"

"You shouldn't assume things, Maggie," I said. "I want to talk to you, and I…" I looked over at the boy I now believed was named Eldridge. "I think we need to talk."

She followed my glance and nodded nervously. "Okay, Waylon. I think we might need to as well," she finally said in a low tone of resignation.

We stood there, both with our arms crossed, shielding our hearts, and with our eyes averted, veiling our feelings. Suddenly, we heard the light tap of running feet and a voice to accompany them: "Mom! Mom!"

We turned towards the voice, and expectedly, it came from the boy with the glasses that we had both been watching. Maggie feigned insouciance and smiled at her son. "Good afternoon, Eldridge!" she said, lifting her boy in the air. "How was your day at school?"

"It was wonderful, Mom. We played this game where we went around the classroom and everyone was asked a question about the Declaration of Independence and whoever was left standing at the end was the winner. I won a whole box of licorice whips!" he exclaimed, then suddenly, he noticed me and grinned. "You again! Why, good afternoon, sir!"

"You know this man?" asked Maggie, placing her son down anxiously.

"He was my only customer yesterday when I went to sell the cookies," Eldridge explained. "Well, he and his friend, Mr. Burns, who promise a large donation."

_Oh, God. That name. The name of the man that Maggie blamed for the end of our love. _She couldn't look at me as she said, "Well, this is my old friend, Waylon. We were just catching up." She smiled pretentiously as Eldridge approached me and shook my hand.

"It's a pleasure to officially meet you, sir," he said, his voice sounding more like me than ever.

"The pleasure's mine," I said wistfully, fairly certain now that I was meeting my son for the first time in his life.

"Do you have a child that goes here? Perhaps I know him or her," Eldridge inquired elatedly.

"I don't know," I said stupidly, then immediately added, "I mean…no, I just…saw your mom here and thought I'd say hello."

Maggie watched our exchange painfully and then said, "Well, Eldridge, we should really be going. Waylon, I'll...see you soon?"

"How does tomorrow sound? I get a 15 minute break at 10:30, but I'm sure Mr. Bur…" I began. "Uh…I'm sure I'll be able to elongate it."

Maggie looked down and nodded. "10:30. Shall we meet at the plant?"

My heart raced. I knew that this was not the best idea, but what could I say? "Sure, Maggie. Tomorrow at the plant. It was…wonderful to see you."

"It was wonderful to see you too," she said, but I read the truth in her eyes. And it was not quite as pleasant as the words that exited her mouth. "Come on, Eldridge. We'll be late for your practice."


	4. Chapter 4

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter, but I haven't been permitted much time with the stresses and strains of school and whatnot. Anyway, I hope this extra-long chapter was worth the wait. :) Thank you all for reading and reviewing! Every word is truly cherished. :) I hope you enjoy Chapter 4!

Mr. Burns almost immediately noticed that I had been glancing apprehensively at the clock every five minutes and questioned me after the third glance. "Smithers, am I so boring and/or boorish today that you are just aching to take your break and feel the need to check the clock every single minute?" he asked irritably.

I turned to Mr. Burns in surprise and stuttered, "No, no, of course not, sir. I cherish every moment we're together, it's only that…well, I'm meeting someone on my break today and the impending intensity of the meeting is making me rather anxious."

Mr. Burns' eyebrows raised in intrigue. "Oh? Who is this mystery company?"

I thrust my hands into the safety of my jacket pockets and looked away. "Um…it's Maggie."

I waited in fear for Mr. Burns' reaction. At first, he just stared at me illegibly with wide eyes. "Maggie? As in, your ex-wife Maggie?" I nodded. Then his brow furrowed in anger. "Smithers, how could meet with that wretched woman? You're not considering getting back together with her, are you?" he exclaimed.

"Well, no, I mean…uh…we just have a lot to talk to about," I attempted. I shouldn't have told him. I knew he would react like this. Maggie and Mr. Burns had disliked each other intensely from the very beginning, although I could never understand why. They were actually quite similar in several respects and I would have thought they would have got on peaceably if not affably. However, Mr. Burns thought Maggie was a sleazy, Southern hick only after my money, and Maggie claimed that Mr. Burns was a decrepit, repulsive miser that had not the first idea about how to treat me. The war between them began early and continued for years, as they found more and more things to detest about each other. The war began early and much to my dismay was now was resuming.

"Smithers, that woman is no good, I tell you. And I only tell you as your friend," he said, pulling at my heartstrings. "You deserve the best woman there is, and she is _not _it, Waylon."

I smiled unsurely. "Thank you, Mr. Burns, but I do need to talk to her. Not about getting back together, I assure you. It's just…well, she has something and it might be mine and well…" I couldn't tell Mr. Burns that I had a son. Or that I might have one. Not yet. Not before I knew for sure. "Um…let me meet with her and I'll tell you all about it this afternoon when we go golfing, okay?"

Mr. Burns looked at me unsatisfied but nodded. "All right. Just be wary of her charms. She certainly has some."

I nodded. "I will. Thank you, sir."

---------------------

Maggie picked me up promptly outside the plant, as punctuality was one of her many strengths. We rode in her car in silence except for the smooth jazz music playing on the stereo and the heavy drumming of rain against the windows. I looked out the windows instead of looking at my former love, watching the rare Springfield rain pour in hefty slants down from the dark, metallic skies. When we arrived at a quaint coffee shop, Maggie suggested, "Shall we sit outside?"

"But it's raining, Maggie," I argued.

"Exactly," she said as she led to us to a table under an umbrella. I dodged the bullets of rain tumbling down as I sat while Maggie stood for a moment under them, looking to the sky wistfully. I couldn't believe that in the eight years since our divorce, I had almost forgotten who Maggie was: a free spirit with a love for her life. How I had always envied her that.

Finally, Maggie smiled once more at the rain-laden world, sighed, and took her seat. I stared at her in something like awe, I suppose. "What are you doing looking me at like, Waylon?"

"Like what?" I asked embarrassedly.

"Like you were just doing," she tried, meeting my stare and conquering it.

I looked away. "I wasn't looking at you in any particular way, Maggie. Now, can we talk? I really have to be back to work soon."

There was still a slight, sly, and suspicious smile plastered on her face as she nodded. "All right, Waylon. How has your life been?"

Although I sincerely desired to bypass this talk and get to discussing our son, I humored her and said, "My life has been fine. Rather good, actually."

"You and Mr. Burns…you're a couple now, I suppose?" she inquired frankly.

I was fortunate I wasn't drinking coffee at that moment, for I was rather certain I would have spit it out in shock. "Maggie, keep your voice down," I demanded.

She looked genuinely confused. "What? It's okay if you are. You can tell me. It's not like I'm still in love with you. Truly, I'm over it, and I expected just as much when you left me for him."

"I didn't leave you for him," I began to protest.

"Oh, no?" Maggie asked sardonically. "Then why did you leave me? Because I always thought that it was because you stopped loving me and started loving that wicked, old man."

I sighed. I couldn't lie to her anymore. She had known the truth about my feelings for Mr. Burns as long as I had, I suppose. "I never stopped loving you," I said honestly. "But you are right. I did start loving Mr. Burns," I admitted in a low voice.

Maggie attempted to veil her emotions and said flatly, "So, you finally admit it. Thank God, Waylon. It only took you eight years." I sat silently, hurt by Maggie's words or my own or something I wasn't even sure of. She noticed this and said in a softer voice, "Do you mind if I inquire what his reaction was when you admitted it to him?"

I looked up at her. "I don't mind if you inquire, but I have no answer for you."

"Are you telling me you never told him?" exclaimed Maggie incredulously.

Sighing yet again, I said, "Yes, that's what I'm telling you."

For a moment, we sat there in quietude, until Maggie looked at me with sheer confusion and asked simply: "Why?"

"Why? Why didn't I tell him?" I asked. Maggie nodded. I sighed, and knowing that even I didn't truly know the answer to that question, I said, "Oh, Maggie, I thought we came here to talk about Eldridge, not my pathetic life."

As her brilliant, emerald eyes filled with apology, she said, "I'm sorry, Waylon. I was only wondering. That's all. I mean, I'm just confused! I thought that Mr. Burns had offered himself to you years ago when we were still married, and well, you made your choice," clarified Maggie.

I shook my head. "No, it wasn't quite like that. I don't know what it was like."

Another silence prevailed until Maggie bluntly proclaimed, "Eldridge is your son, Waylon, but I don't expect anything from you. I never did, that's why I chose not to tell you. I didn't want your pity or your money or anything else. I just wanted to move on and raise my son without you and Mr. Burns and this whole ugly thing that was between us. I hope you understand."

_So it is official. You have a son and you never knew him at all. _"Maggie, how could you not tell me?! He's my son. I had more than a right to know!"

"I'm sorry, I just thought it would be best for everyone…" she trailed off.

I shook my head in anger and disbelief. "It's not best for everyone. Eldridge needs a father and believe it or not, I would have been a great one to him."

Maggie scoffed and said irately, "Sure you would have. You would have been just a great role model with your assassinations and your illegal affairs and your working for the evilest man in town. That's exactly how I wanted Eldridge to grow up, around Mr. Burns and the awful man that he was turning you into!"

I riposted furiously, "Mr. Burns and I are two separate people, Maggie, and you know that I would never put our son in harm's way. I would have loved him, damn it." Then I stopped for a moment and softened my tone. "And I will love him. I will know him. I need to know him, Maggie. You must understand that."

She looked away, out to the rain that was now dying down. "I know, Waylon. He needs to know you as well. The you that I had always known. But I mean what I say. He needs to know _you._" Then she looked into my eyes. "But he will _never _know Mr. Burns."


	5. Chapter 5

AUTHORESS'S NOTE: Thank you all for reading and reviewing. :) I'm sorry that I took so long to update. I hope you haven't lost interest! Please read and review! Every word is greatly appreciated! Thank you. :)

Sweat transferred from my right palm to my left and vice versa as I rubbed my nervous hands together in the utilization of an anxiety-driven habit. I was waiting outside the power plant for Maggie to drop Eldridge off with me for our first real meeting. Well, not truly real, as the thin blanket of wool was still wrapped tightly around his eyes in regards to my being his father. Maggie and I both decided that it would be best for me to get to know Eldridge as a friend before springing such news on him, and that was what this first meeting was planned to be: a simple lunch between friends.

I wasn't quite sure how Maggie was going to convince Eldridge to even want to be my friend, though. _What normal 8-year-old boy would want to pal around with some effete middle-aged nerd?_ I wondered. Then again, from what I already saw of Eldridge from our brief prior interactions, and with the possession of the knowledge that some amount of his personality would be genetic, I concluded that Eldridge was no normal 8-year-old boy.

As soon as I saw the sleek, polished face of Maggie's BMW pull up to me, I lifted myself unsteadily from the ground upon which I uncharacteristically sat. I veiled my hands inside the pockets of my blazer and waited for my ex-wife and son to get out of the car. My ex-wife and son…my family…I couldn't wrap my mind around the idea, but I knew that I would have to try. And post haste.

With her body wrapped in a midnight-hued dress and her neck titivated with a plait of pearls in place of the locket I gave her years ago, Maggie exited her car with an unreadable expression on her face, akin to the one her…our…son wore as he made his way out. My anxiety ascended.

"Good afternoon, Maggie," I greeted civilly, smiling tensely. "How are you today?"

She smiled back with evident pretense. "I'm doing mighty fine, Waylon. And yourself?"

"I'm doing just super," I said stupidly, but I noticed that my response tendered a smile from Eldridge, so I decided not to regret it.

Maggie nodded and kissed Eldridge on the forehead. "You be good now, Eldridge. Call me when your lunch is over and I'll come pick you up here, okay?"

Eldridge nodded uneasily as Maggie returned to her car and began to drive off without bidding me a mere final glance. Eldridge then looked to me and attempted a smile of custom. "Hi, Mr. Smithers. It's really nice to see you again…" he began, obviously confused.

_ Great, Maggie, just great! You didn't even give him an explanation for this lunch, did you? Now you leave it up to me to think of something. Just terrific_, I thought bitterly as I tried to come up with some plausible explication for us to meet.

"It's really nice to see you again too, Eldridge," I began. "I suppose you're wondering why you're here though."

He looked down at the ground shyly and admitted, "Well, yes, I am rather curious."

"Um…well, you see…" I stuttered. "The plant is experimenting with different forms of advertisements because the rate of interest of employment here is declining…so, I thought perhaps a poem would inspire worker morale…and I thought you and I could talk terms…I just thought because you were in the Poetry Club at school, that maybe you'd be interested." At that moment, I wondered if all my Stanford schooling had gone to waste because at that moment, I felt like the biggest fool in Springfield. And that was saying a lot.

Eldridge didn't seem to notice the absurdity of my lie, however. He looked up at me with big, glass-shielded eyes and beamed. "I'd be delighted to write you a poem, sir. It would be an honor."

At this point, we both seemed to relax a bit as I led him to my car. I had planned on taking him to an elite little bakery that I was dearly fond of, talking to him about his poetry and slowly easing into getting to know more about him. However, Eldridge had a different plan.

"Mr. Smithers, with all due regard, I think I should actually see the plant and witness its splendor if I'm to be writing a poem in its honor," pointed out Eldridge.

I froze for a minute in place. "Y-you mean, like, a tour?"

"Well, yes…I mean, it just makes the most sense to me."

And to me too. It simply did make sense. How would I expect him to proffer plaudits on something he had never even been exposed to? But then again, I knew that if I abided by this logic and took Eldridge for a tour, he would inevitably meet Mr. Burns. And that was the one thing Maggie forbade me to have happen. I couldn't risk losing my son over something like that. "Well, Eldridge, I really don't think…" I began before noticing that Eldridge was already making his way into the plant. I hurriedly caught up with him but it was too late. We were inside the first cooling tower by the time I managed to cease his eager steps. "Eldridge, stop for a moment," I instructed.

Obediently, he stopped. "What's wrong, Mr. Smithers?" he asked worriedly. "Don't you want me to see the plant?"

The truth was that I did. Sorely. The plant was my second home, the place that I ran day in and day out, and to be honest, I was proud of that beautiful facility. To have my very own flesh and blood walk through its corridors…to have him see the daily goings-on, major and minor…to have him touch the walls of what I considered oftentimes my womb of security…well, I suppose for my son to see the plant would be for him to begin to see me. And I wanted that desperately.

_Maggie said she didn't want Eldridge to _know_ Mr. Burns. She never said that he couldn't simply meet him in passing…_I began to rationalize in my mind before I realized that I was taking much too long answering Eldridge's deceptively simple question. "Of course I want you to see the plant," I replied with a consoling smile. "Just try not to walk so fast, okay?"

Returned was Eldridge's smile and off we walked through the bottom floor of the plant. I discerned happily the awe written on my son's face as he examined the grand facility. He giggled as workers fumbled with radioactive rods and stared rapt at the minor implosions inside the windowed rooms. "Wow, Mr. Smithers, this place is quite enthralling," said Eldridge quietly.

"You really think so? Most people find it to be rather mundane," I admitted sadly.

Eldridge looked to me with incredulous eyes. "Mundane? Hardly, sir! I've never seen chemistry executed in such a captivating way."

My heart soared at this revelation that my son and I had more in common than our appearance, diction, and love of poetry. I could only imagine the endless possibilities of things we could share, and my heart teemed with bliss. However, there was one thing that I hoped for his sake we didn't have in common, assuming that it would bring him as much heartache and pain that it brought me. And the display of that very thing walked into the hallway not minutes later.

"Straighten that tie, Huberts! What in God's name do you think you're doing, Carlson?" came that silky, familiar voice. I looked ahead of me to see Mr. Burns, hunched over, his fingers creating their usual tabernacle as he engaged in some mild altercation with one of our employees. Eldridge's eyes grew wide at the sight of his histrionic entrance. "Who's _that_?" asked my son.

"That's Mr. Charles Montgomery Burns…my boss and my…" I began before Mr. Burns interrupted by striding over to us with a confused look on his face.

"Smithers, what is this thing? You know we aren't allowed to have…children inside the plant. It's unsafe," said Mr. Burns without a greeting.

"As opposed to anything else going on here?" I asked sardonically, but seeing the coldness that vanished when Mr. Burns saw me return to his eyes, I decided to correct my reply. "I mean, this is my friend Eldridge. He's going to write a poem about the plant for advertisements."

Mr. Burns bent down to Eldridge's level to look him in the eyes. "Hmmm…you look familiar. Do I know you, boy?"

Beginning to panic, I hastily replied, "No, no. You couldn't know him. He just moved here. Um…and he has to be going soon so we should be on our way."

Mr. Burns looked at both of curiously before saying: "Well, Smithers, I want my lunch in fifteen minutes. You can bring the boy with you; I'd like to more about this advertising project. I'll let you finish the tour, but I expect you in my office at 12:30."

I nodded and attempted to appear composed. "Okay, sir. 12:30 it is," I replied as he walked by me_. Lunch with Mr. Burns. And my son._ I couldn't even imagine what Maggie would do if she found out. And I couldn't even imagine what Mr. Burns would do when he inevitably realized the true identity of the little boy who bore the most uncanny resemblance to me.

And that's when I began to get the gnawing feeling that I should never have brought Eldridge to the plant in the first place.


End file.
